Strength to Fight
by MKofGod
Summary: John Sheppard struggles to rescue his team, but he's wounded, and the rouge Genii certainly are not helping. This story is under revision for grammer and incongruencies. Sorry. It should resume soon
1. Escape

Disclaimer- It's MINE! All mine!!! Mwahahaha!!! No really, it is! Okay okay, you caught me. Stargate Atlantis is not mine, nor are any of the characters in it. However, the story line is mine.

P.S. Updates may be a little slow in coming, and I'm a new writer in FanFic, so please don't flame. Oh, swearing is ---, so…

John lay there, the dark surrounding him, the rain clouding his view, brightened only by the lightning that illuminated the woods around him. His leg that was trapped under the fallen tree had long ago gone numb. He had managed to patch the bullet wound in his side, but he knew it was still bleeding. He reached up to his head and gingerly felt the bump he found there.

"Great going Sheppard," He muttered to himself. "Escape from that --- hole and look where you get!" With a grunt he forced himself up slightly, but the sharp pain from his side caused him to gasp and fall back to the ground. He managed to lean sideways before he wretched, drenching the already wet ground beside him with vomit.

"Okay, John, you can do this." Sheppard forced himself into a sitting position, a muffled cry of pain nearly escaping his lips. He pressed his fingers to his side. "--! Common John!" He grimaced as he reached over and pushed against the log over his leg. It moved slightly, and greatly encouraged he pushed all his weight against it. The pain made his vision go white and teeth clashed together. Pulling his leg away he gasped in relief. "Oh --. Oh –."

He struggled to stand, the pain clouding his vision. He grabbed onto the trunk of one of the surrounding trees. He was lucky. The tree that had landed on his leg was small, not nearly the size of the usual trees here on WYT-548. He and his team had come to do the usual – seek out alliances, make trade partners, friends, the usual. They certainly hadn't expected to be captured, taken off world and told that they were going to be sold as slaves. He remembered it clearly. One of many things he wished he didn't.

He remembered the look on Ronon's face when Teyla had been led away to her new master, a man whose face clearly showed his intentions. Her head had been held high, her face proud, yet John knew her well enough to see the fear in her eyes. She had resisted her new 'master' if any could lay that claim, and had been struck across the face. He remembered clearly how his jaw had clench and the sick feeling that had settled in his stomach. Ronon had lunged forwards, the chains keeping him back – barely.

He remembered Ronon being led off, the man saying loudly how he anticipated seeing Ronon in action in the Arena. Ronon's face had been deadly, and he had looked at Sheppard, the man he had allowed himself to trust, his eyes had been filled with hope struggling with despair. Hope in John. Despair of help arriving. And the Colonel had looked away. He knew as well as Ronon did what the changes of either did. Ronon knew even better than he.

Rodney was the only one that John knew was in a relatively safe place. It was always apparent to all that Rodney was smart. In fact, no matter how much other people would argue to the contrary, was impossible to hide that fact that McKay was a genius. He had been sold to a scholar, to a fate that almost fitted him. Rodney's face had been a strange mixture of red and white, constantly glancing at John to make sure he was alright. It didn't even seem to register for a second to him that he had been the one sold. Typical Rodney. Total mass of cowardice and arrogance on the outside, but when it came right down to it, he was more than willing to step in front of a gun to save a friend, or put aside his own fears and doubts to save a life. He had proved that many a time.

And John? Himself? He had been sold to the mines. The dark death traps that supplied the other half of this world's commerce. He and most of the other slaves that hadn't been sold had been tied together, roped to a chain by a tie around their neck and led away. The treck up the mountains had been tedious and they received no food and little water. Many of the weak fell to the ground, dragged along by the noose around their necks. If the exposure hadn't killed them, then the choking surely would have.

John had managed to save one, though later he wondered if it would have been kinder to let him die. Hondaas was a young lad, scarcely fourteen, thin scrawny, and terrified. He had been tied just in front of John, who had struck up a casual friendship with him. As they walked John found out that Hondaas was the second youngest of his family, and in circumstances that really reminded John of that Bible story his Mom used to tell him, the one about Joseph, he had been sold into slavery. Hondaas loved to ride cathephos, an animal that he described as being a cross of a cat and a duck, a really strange image to conjure. During the long trek, Hondaas would use his failing streanth to talk about anything that came to mind. Looking back, John realized that he had been trying to keep John's mind off of the fates that awaited his team. Somehow at the beginning of the journey the boy had managed to find out everything about them.

Hondaas had become weaker and weaker as the treck wore on, and one day his strength left him. John caught him when he fell, and had supported him with his own weary strength until Hondaas had finally managed to walk again. On the sixth day, they finally reached the opening.

It was like a huge yawning mouth, open to swallow all who went in, and according to the rumors, none who entered went out. The mines mined Tracosil, a highly explosive rock that was native to this world. It was difficult to reach, hard to mine, and even harder to carry without blowing yourself up. It was not rare for the slaves to die. Hondaas had been with the dispatch group, assigned to the duty of getting rid of the bad Tracosil which was too volatile. On his seventh day he had been trapped, stuck in a cave in caused by the Tracosil in front of him blowing up. His wounds killed him, but not before he nearly ran out of air and had come close to starving to death. John had been there when he had been dug up, and had had to leave immediately to keep from loosing what little food was in his stomach. Hondaas hadn't even been buried, but rather thrown into a pit beside the mine, just another body among the thousands.

Sheppard had endured this torment for four weeks and three days, or so the calendar he had checked when he escaped said. For him it had seemed like months and years, and he had often wondered if he had been there for eternity.

The escape had been helped by a revolt staged by the slaves. John had used this as a distraction, and using the bare minimum of Tracosil crystals had managed to blow open his chain and again the door. He had disappeared into the woods. The guards had bigger problems than a single slave. He had made a clean getaway.

John entered a cave, lowering himself gingerly to the floor. He tore his already ragged shirt and bound the leg with two relatively strait sticks that he had found. The good thing about the Tracosil mines, had been that he could keep anything that the guards didn't take and the slaves didn't steal. He didn't have his gun or knife of course, but they had seen no use to his IDC. If his codes weren't locked out, he could get to Atlantis. But he had something else to deal with first. He had to find the others.

The next morning came and he stumbled to his feet, trying not to put pressure on his leg. He grabbed onto the wall and slowly began limping out. The pain surged in his side and he mouthed curses at the --- who had shot him. He had made a clean getaway, until the Genii had showed up in the middle of the town. Always the Genii! It didn't matter that they were rouge, the remains of Kolya's rebellion. They were still Genii, and they had recognized him immediately. The first shot had been wild, flying over his head and giving him enough warning to start running. The second had caught him even as he ran towards the cover of a stack of wine barrels.

His escape had been hectic after that, and he still wasn't clear on how it happened. However, he did remember that a certain ten year old girl deserved a medal for saving his life. He didn't know why she had chosen to help him, or how she had known how to do it, but she had cut loose a wagon of rashbul trunks, which had then set off rolling down the road towards the Genii. They had scattered instantly.

She had then grabbed his hand and drug him into her house, showed him an alley way, and after shoving a few copper coins in his hand – coins that she couldn't afford to spare, she pointed him a way out of the city and to the Stargate. Not one to waste an opportunity, he had sunk to his knees, hugged her, honest to goodness hugged her, then promptly forced himself to his feet and hauled out of there.

Looking back, Sheppard realized it probably would have been better for him to ask her for bandages, directions to the Arena, rescue Ronon, and wing it from there. Except, he knew that she was only ten, and he wasn't willing to put her in danger to cover his rear.

He grabbed onto a tree branch to stop himself from slipping in the slippery mud that was an inevitable side effect of the heavy rain. It seems that the weather on this planted had trigger finger changes. One second he had been returning from spying out the gate, which happened to be guarded by some very heavy duty guards, the sun was shining with almost unbearable heat, and the next the clouds rolled over the sky and a full blown hurricane was upon him. He had struggled to reach the cave he had found while running to the gate, but the cave was up hill, and the new rivers of water that was running down that hill made it nearly impossible. Soon after that a lighting strike, coupled by the severe wind and the erosion, toppled a relatively small tree. Relatively small being the size of a full grown walnut tree. He had been pinned, his leg trapped under a large tree, his side bleeding anew, and no help in sight for the next thousand, or perhaps even million light years. The rain soon eroded a ditch low enough that he could pull himself out.

So now he found himself here, his wound sending sharp pains through his side, his leg unable to support him, and still three members short of his team. He reached the top of the hill and glanced down. The village wall was just in front of him. The wall was patrolled by guards. The gate protected by three guards, who by now had his picture, supplied by the genii. This he knew because of the guards at the gate had _his_ picture in their hands. He would have to get around those, dodge the Rouge Genii, dodge the slavers who would recognize them (he now knew the disadvantage of being a trouble maker) to the arena in the exact center. That's where Ronon was, and that's where he had to get


	2. Into the City

Ronon scowled from where he sat in the corner of his cell. He glared at the guard through the bars from where he sat in the corner, his arms propped up against his knees. One month, and six days. Every day he scratched another mark on the wall, and each day his hope faded a little bit more.

When Sheppard and his team had first found him on that forsaken planet, a Wraith tracking device in his back and no hope or friends left, he hadn't expected them to help him. He certainly hadn't expected them to be friends. And if anyone had told him that he would soon consider them family he would have laughed in their face. Back then he hadn't expected to ever have friends again. His friends had died on Sateeda and the Wraith had removed all hope of making more. His only purpose in life had been to avenge them – to kill as many of the Wraith as possible.

Then _they _had come. They had given him a home, a family, and a life. They had given him hope. He didn't show it a lot and goodness knew that he wasn't that big on words, but he would give everything for them. He just wished that if he died it would be in a more honorable manner than this…

"Dex!" A voice called from down the hall. The guard got up and fished out his keys. As the door unlocked Ronon looked for an escape as he always did. The guard would be easy to over power because he was short, fat, and lazy. He was slow. It would only take a well placed jab to down him. The problem Ronon faced was the six highly trained guards assigned for the exact reason of keep the fighters from escaping. Originally it had only been two, but Ronon had the dubious pride of having… encouraged them to increase their guard. True, it would make it harder to escape when he finally did, but he looked forward to the challenge.

The arena reminded Ronon sharply of the movie Gladiator that Sheppard had insisted on watching at least once a month, especially if it was movie night with other teams. As he walked out onto the sand, a broad sword in his fist, armor reminiscent of his old uniform on Sateeda hanging off of his shoulders. He only realized after putting the armor on for the first time how much he had gotten used to his leather clothes and cloth shirts.

The hotter of this planet's two suns made the sand glare up into Ronon's eyes, forcing him to fight the urge to squint. The cheers of the blood thirsty crowed raised in volume as Ronon's rival entered the rink. Ronon barred his teeth in what may have been a grin, but was more of a snarl. Until he managed to escape and rescue his team, or until they 'rescued' him his main duty was to survive. With eyes gleaming he launched himself into the battle.

John sat up on the hill wondering how he had managed to get out of the city in the first place. However, he soon noticed a pattern in the admittance of citizens into the city. Everyone had papers, and the people with wagons had to have the back checked. But the guards were bored, and John noticed signs of the recurring laziness that apparently abounded in the leaders of this community. The guards would only check one thing, the top of the cargo, or one bucket if the cargo was filled with buckets. Even so, today was market day, and the line of wagons was in a huge traffic jam. Slowly a smirk worked its way across the Colonel's mouth and pushing a hand against his side to keep it from twinging too much he pushed him self off of the ground, only stopping to grip his makeshift staff, and then like a shadow he disappeared, leaving no trace behind except some crumpled leaves and a small puddle of blood.

"Halt!" The guard ordered. "Show your papers." The farmer shuffled in the leather bag beside him and then pulled out a wrinkled piece of blue script. The guard snatched it out of his hand and looked over it for scarcely half a second. "Okay then. Wait for inspection." The guard motioned with his head for his companion to remove the tarp.

Inside a barrel, a hunched over Lt. Colonel held his breath as he heard the snap of the leather being pulled back roughly. He barrel shifted and he heard the signs of his lid being opened. Adrenaline roared in his years for a few seconds, and the bitter taste of fear stained his mouth. Then suddenly he heard the announcement to move along, and the trembling of the cart. The air left his lungs with a _whoosh_ and he closed his eyes. In his current condition he was hardly in any position to fight, and a cramped wooden box was hardly his ideal spot for a last stand.

Originally the finding an ideal wagon to hide in wasn't supposed to have been the hardest part of his plan, but rather getting into the wagon without alerting the farmer driving it. However, an unusual stroke of luck had him wondering what was going on upstairs. Usually he didn't receive so much help out of the blue from complete strangers. The driver was a farmer whose huge size would have made Ronon look… well, Sheppard size. He was also equipped with the large and tough muscles that you usually see only on blacksmiths.

The farmer had seen him looking at his wagon, and had suddenly dismounted from his wagon (which was a good while from the gate,) picked up John's stick before John could react, and thumbed towards the wagon. "Get in." The farmer had growled. John had felt his face go hard and blank, his survival skills screaming at him to get the --- out of there, but the farmer continued, "News has been around that someone's been causing trouble for those _pettaugi _Genii who have been hanging about. Not to mention a friend of mine may have… dropped some hints. A scientist working for Davrok. His name be McKay. Gave a pretty --- sure description of ye."

John's face drained of what little color that was left. "You know where McKay is?" He had rasped out. The days with little water and nearly no food had taken their toll on him.

"Aye, I do lad. But his place is guarded, and you'll need help. I'll drop you off near the Arena, give you directions to Davrok's home." The farmer's face softened. "Never was a holden to slavery. And that scientist happened to save my daughters life. She works in that house." The big man clapped his hands together. "Me name be Benrak, and now, you'll be wanting to get into the city, and I want to do my part. There's an empty bucket. Get in."

So that's how he found himself here, in a cramped barrel that made him regret all snaky and teasing remarks he may have said to Rodney about his claustrophobia. He had already been in here more than three hours, reaching to four. Suddenly he felt the wagon slow down. A few moments later the top lifted off of the crate. "We be at the arena." Benrak announced. John looked up to see that they were in a secluded alleyway.

The large farmer helped John straiten and then get out of the crate. He set him down, only to catch the Colonel as his legs buckled. A groan escaped Sheppard's lips, and he looked down to find the red stain spreading.

Benrak took one look and swore so vilely that Sheppard wondered how he ever thought certain words on earth had been bad. "Why did ye nae tell me ye wert dat wounded!" the large man scowled at him, in a way that uncannily reminded John of Carson. He stormed over to the front seat and grabbed a roll of white linen. "Get over here ye scum!"

"Benrak, I'm fine." Sheppard interrupted. "I just need to find my team and get out of here."

"Not like that ye don't. Should have guessed you'd be wounded. De doc said dat you had a problem admitting weakness." The farmer scowled at him. "Shoulda known."

John frowned at Benrak. "Speaking of Rodney, how did you two meet?" Benrak clamped his jaws together and stared pointedly towards the wagon bed. With a sigh of resignation Sheppard limped over to sit down. Benrak's clouded face cleared and a cheery smile peeked through.

"Good lad!" He promptly set about to probing the wound in a manner that clearly demonstrated to the Colonel that he knew what he was doing. However, pushing that information to the back of his mind as irrelevant, Sheppard pressed on. "Now, about McKay…" he trailed off.

"Ah yes," Brenrak said, "De doctor. Well, tis quite simple. Mah daughter works in Davrok's 'ome. Davrok be one of the main powers here on Traca, and despite that half of his servants be not his slaves… well, lets just say that they try dere hardest not to disappoint 'em." John once again felt the familiar feeling of panic.

"Rodney! Did he hurt Rodney?" John growled through clenched teeth. The farmer looked up, startled and then quickly reassured him. "Nae! Nae laddie! Yer doctor McKay has something that the --- can't afford to lose or damage. A genius mind, and the ability to build almost anything." The farmer's face was thoughtful as he wrapped the linen around the colonel's waist. "Needless to say, the one thing Davrok loves more than his food and wine, is advancement, and technology.

"For monthes, me daughter be coming 'ome with stories of de new slave who was a pain in the… well, who was arrogant, and cowardly, and how he would get dem all killed."

John snorted in amusement and muttered, "That's Rodney alright."

Benrak grimaced. "Aye. Now, as I be saying, me daughter works in Davrok's home. However, one day when cleaning 'is laboratory, she accidentally broke somethin', one of Davrok's pet projects." Benrak looked up into John's eyes, which were filled with the pain of his wounds. "De penalty of dat was death, Colonel."

John swallowed, somehow wishing he didn't know how this story was

"But McKay, he didn't even let the guards register what had happened before 'e was takin' de blame. De guards called Davrok, and me daughter tells me that as they got out of ear shot, Dr. McKay ordered all de people not to tell who had broken the vile. Well, Davrok comes storming in, his executioner wit' him, and demands to know 'o broke… whatever it was."

"Let me guess," John spoke up. "Rodney took the blame."

"Aye," The Farmer said. "And because he was so valuable to Davrok, he got off with a mild punishment. Well, to make a long story short, my daughter is rather popular, if it be not prideful to say. And many were… grateful, that he 'ad saved her life. He asked only one t'ing in return. Dat if we ever saw a medium sized man, who looked out of place with messy black hair, green eyes and… forgive me, 'is words not mine, so skinny he could hide behind a tooth pick, or a beautiful Athosian, or a strong sateedan who loves to fight, whose names are John Sheppard, Teyla, and Ronon, to help them. One of his friends, a little girl reported 'elping you yesterday, so I knew you had to be around." Benrak smiled at John. "I have filled half my debt to your friend now, John Sheppard." He stood back. "Well? How does de wound feel?"

John studied the farmer's face for a second, before lifting and lowering his arm. He looked up in surprise. "It doesn't hurt as much!" Benrak smiled.

"Good. Now then, ye can't rescue your companions without a weapon so…" Out of the farmer's waistband he grabbed and spun a knife. "'Ere ye go. Be careful wit' it, mind ye. Yer friend Ronon jest won another game today, or so I 'eard. If dat be de case, he'll be in the room of champions. Go down to de catacombs, four doors down on the left side. It'll be the one wit' the wooden door." The farmer climbed up onto his wagon.

"Thank you for your help, Benrak." John said, his staff once again firmly in his hands.

"Nae, thank ye, John Sheppard." The farmer smiled at him. "I wish ye de best of luck."

As the farmer drove away, John turned towards the entrance of the Arena, which was across the street from the Alley. Straitening his shoulders and pulling a hood over his head, he hid his new knife in his boot.

"Well," He sighed to himself, "Here goes nothing."


	3. Strength to Rescue

Ronon scowled at the stone wall in front of him. This was the winner's room, the most desired housing in the whole building – unless of course you were Thak, the owner. He lived in nothing short of a palace.

However, if you were a fighter this was the top prize, other than your freedom. Why? Well, it was quite simple - if you were in the minor leagues, it meant a blanket and a hot meal. It meant that you weren't in a filthy cell, infection climbing into your wounds because no medical aid was given to losers.

Because if you had been in the death match, it meant you won. Because it meant that you were still breathing for one more day. And for Ronon, it meant one less door to get past into freedom. For some reason, a break out was less likely when a gladiator was in the prized room. Didn't make sense to him. This room had no windows, it was closed in, like a box. Sure, you got an extra helping, and you got an extra blanket. But in exchange? No fresh air, nor a breeze no matter how stale it was in the underground cells. Ronon gave a contemptuous look at the floor. No pacing room either. Ronon's scowl darkened. But that wasn't the worst of this place.

In the night, when the torches were out and the halls silent, and the light from the outside was extinguished there was nothing to distract himself from his thoughts. Any wounds he had incurred were dulled by the medicines they pumped into his system. There were no guards to frighten, no fellow hall mates telling stories or snoring. There was only himself and his thoughts.

Over and over again he would play the mission to what Atlantis called WYT-548, and Teyla and he knew as Fatham. There were there for one more of McKay's search of Ancient technology. Apparently this place was supposed to be a genetic research lab. Personally, Ronon didn't see why he bothered. If it didn't kill more Wraith what was the point?

Rodney had been making analogies between the land there and a movie called The Clone Wars. It made no sense to Ronon, 'cause he could see no comparison whatsoever to anything in that movie, except maybe the world of Tafooine, or whatever that world was called.

However, as always Sheppard and Rodney got into another pointless argument. If he remembered correctly it was about what Anakin shoulda killed those sand monsters, and then gone after Obi-Wan. Once again Ronon couldn't figure out what they were arguing about. Wasn't it obvious what Anakin should of done? He should've done exactly what he did, which was kill the murderer's of his family, hightail to rescue his mentor and then get the -- out of there.

However, the argument was amusing, especially the insults they would call each other, and Ronon found himself constantly glancing over at Teyla in the corner of his eye to see if she was finding this as funny as he was. He was always reassured this was true by the red color her face was turning, and the way that she compressed her lips and her shoulders trembled.

They reached the village in good time, and Rodney was soon lost to the real world as he studied the machine they found in ecstasy. Ronon, John, and Teyla, however, were soon bored out of their minds, as the Atlanteans would say, and had been desperate to find something to do. That something turned out to be talking to some fellow traders in the area. What none of them realized at the time was, the traders weren't interested in food and grain, but rather the _people_ they could sell to make a profit – Slave traders.

They had been heading back to the Stargate when the shots started. Ronon and Teyla had been talking about a new child who was joining the Athosian community, a little boy they rescued from a desert world that had been desecrated by the Wraith, when yellow energy blasts had come out of the trees on either side of the trail. Caught by surprise Ronon had barely had time to draw his gun before Teyla went down. McKay was next, and then a blast hit him. It didn't take Ronon down, but numbness swept through the left side of his body like a fire in a dry prairie. He managed to down two of the attackers before another blast hit him in the chest. The last thing he saw as the darkness closed in, was Sheppard's enraged face as he tried to fend of the attackers and protect his team.

John crept through the stone halls, the sound of his stolen boots ringing loudly in his ears. Each step seemed to announce his presence and he found himself constantly glancing about expecting enemies to emerge from the shadows. He had waited till dusk before daring to look for Ronon, knowing from his time around he guards, slaves and normal people that during the sunlit hours the common folk could descend to gawk at their chosen champions.

Silently he counted the doors on his left. What the good farmer had failed to mention was that the hall way curved and twisted, and that the distance between doors was about thirty feet, give or take. And in this maze with his bum leg he was seriously thinking of sitting down for a few minutes. However, he was on door three, and he wasn't about to turn around now.

Voices. Footsteps. John threw himself down onto the floor behind a corner. "…Are you sure it's him?"

"Yes, Commander." A second voice responded. "He matches the picture on the wanted add perfectly. Now, there is the small problem of my pay…"

"You will get that when I have confirmed that it is a Lantean in that cell, and not some random rouge on a street. Ancestors!"

John narrowed his eyes and pulled deeper into the shadows.

"If you don't mind me asking," The second voice continued, "What do you want with the brute? Naturally he is a fine fighter, but I highly doubt he'll work for you. He didn't seem to… like… the Genii."

Voice one gave a snort. "He won't work for us. We need information. The – Lanteans have been causing trouble for us for years. It's time we… neutralized that trouble."

There was a snort from the second voice. "Genii. You're banished – remember? Marked as traitors. Banned, cast out, rejected, most wanted, marked as repoba- "

"Enough!" There was the sound of a body being slammed against the wall. "Do you want to continue? Or shall I release my men on you? No? Good." The footsteps continued. Cautiously John looked around the corner. There were seven men out there, six of them dressed in worn Genii uniforms, and one man with long greasy hair and ragged worn clothes. They came to a halt in front of a wooden door that looked incredibly heavy. It was also heavily locked, and John acknowledged to himself that he wouldn't have been able to open it in his… state.

The dirty old man reached into his worn rags and pulled out a key, which he then used to unlock the door. Two of the Genii stepped forwards and pulled the door open.

A smirk spread over one of the Genii's face, and guessing from the uniform he was Voice one and the leader. "Well, well, well… what have we here?" The genii said. "Looks like you were right, Fnalk. Garthos, give him his payment." One of the genii guards nodded and tossed the old man a back. Fnalk grinned greedily and began counting through the coins, mumbling under his breath. Meanwhile, the head Genii stepped into the door, four of his soldiers following after him. The fifth moved to the side as a guard.

John heard the Genii speak and then heard the familiar voice of Ronon answer. The words were indistinguishable, but the malice that colored the words wasn't. John felt himself smirk, despite the dire situation. That was Ronon all right. Now, how to rescue him before these – took him away...

"…you lower the shield on Atlantis?" The Genii asked again, not bothering to hide his anger anymore. Ronon glared at him from where he had been forced onto his knees, not an easy feat as the disaster in the room testified.

"I will ask you one more time. How do you lower the shield on Atlantis?" There was silence before the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Ronon grunted, and another trail of blood made it's way down from his slit cheek. "Might as well kill me. I won't tell you anything." Ronon spat out.

The Genii leaned down. "Oh, I don't think so. You see, we are… hesitant to use this but…" The Genii leader smirked. "I find this a worthy cause. Iedek." He extended a hand towards one of the soldiers. Iedek reached into a case that he had with him and pulled out a small, black hand held device, about a palm and a half in length. It was only about half an inch wide however, and it was round. On the end was a long needle like point, except the end was bulged. Ronon's eyes widened when he saw it, and suddenly his glare was all the more hateful.

"Do you know what this is, Ronon Dex?" The Genii smiled at him. "Of course, you would know better than anyone – Statedan. After all, it was your greatest shame."

Ronon's eyes narrowed. "Those were supposed to have been destroyed years ago."

The Genii shrugged his shoulders with an oh-well smile and said, "Well, you know how it is. All doesn't always mean all. And the inventor happened to be a…close friend to the Genii. Cousin to Kolya, actually, though several generations older. But enough talking." The smile vanished and the Genii's eyes darkened with malice and anger. "Are you going to tell me what I want to know? Or will I have to use it?"

Ronon's next words clearly gave off his meaning because the Genii commander paled slightly and then said, "Very well." He pressed a switch on the device and it began humming as what looked like blue lighting began pulsing through the needle like head. He slowly lowered the tip to the back of Ronon's neck…

John was just starting to get around the corner to creep up on the guard when the first scream tore out of the room. He stopped dead in his tracks, surprise stopping him in his tracks before anger worked it's way through his body, leaving a deep red flush that climed up his neck. With renewed strength he quickly crossed the distance over to the guards and dispatched him silently. Or as silently as a hitting a man on the head, then grabbing same man and twisting his head around. John lowered him to the ground and fumbled around for the soldier's gun. When he found it he spun around the corner just as the head Genii was putting something on Ronon's neck. Something that was causing his pain.

John saw red and the next thing he knew he was firing ten plus rounds into the Genii inside. Ronon had taken his cue and rammed into the Head Genii. In less than four minutes it was over, and John had half of his team. Ronon immedeatly picked up the device and smashed it till all that was left was little pieces of glass, what looked like plastic and twisted metal

"Ronon."

"Sheppard." He responded, nodding slightly.

"Need some help there?"

It was an irrelevant question, because John was already on the move. However, some how it was necessary.

"You okay?" he asked, even as he wanted to kick himself for such a stupid question. Ronon just shot him a look and accepted a hand up.

"You rescue the others yet?" Ronon asked, already getting guns and ammo from the corpses.

"No, I was actually hoping for your help with that." John answered with a grimace. Ronon glanced at him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "Oh don't give me that look. I could have rescued them on my own it just…" He waved his hand in the air, "taken longer." Ronon just nodded. It didn't matter really. He was out and Sheppard was safe. Now to find Teyla and McKay.

John stepped out the door and locked it with the Genii in it. He and Ronon started down the hall, Ronon keeping close after noticing John's limp which had become more profound.

"Do you know where the others are?"

"Not yet." Sheppard answered. "Or rather, I know who got Rodney. It's just a matter of getting there."

They walked in silence before John suddenly spoke up. "By the way, what was that thing?" Ronon didn't answer for a while, but when he finally spoke up there was something John couldn't identify in his voice.

"It's called a Neural Shocker. It's a Satedan torture device that was outlawed years ago. All of the devices were supposed to have been rounded up and destroys. Don't know how it works, but there's nothing that I know that hurts that much. Only good thing is the pain passes quickly, and it only leaves side effects after the third time."

"Side effects." Sheppard echoed dryly.

"Brain damage, organ failure, hallucinations and dual personality." Ronon grunted. "And then there are the minor ones that depend on the person. Paranoia, agression, memory loss, personality changes... minor side effects."

Sheppard glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "_Minor_ side effects."

McKay glared at an underling, but for once held his tongue. It wasn't like Atlantis, where if he yelled at someone long enough they burst into tears and twenty other people crowded around to comfort them. It wasn't Atlantis where if someone made a mistake they were given a lecture – brief in his point of view – and sent on their way. Here, if he yelled at someone to much the head honcho took notice and Rodney never saw them again. Here if someone made a mistake they were immediately executed.

He was working harder in this mediocre lab than he had worked on Atlantis because here there weren't brilliant scientists, and there wasn't a team prepared to fix anything that went wrong. And he wasn't about to have any one on 'his' crew executed if he could help it. Most of them weren't even in their twenties yet! And the oldest one reminded him of Ford before he went all wacko.

"NO! Nononononono! Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Well, okay, so he did lash out sometimes. But honestly – were they _trying_ to get themselves fried or were they just _stupid_. "I told you before. If you put the carbonator cable into the hydrator, the maxim of the particles will over charge the grange. Big electrical shock, and boom, you're dead. Oh, and not to mention shorting out the machine. As useless as it is, someone out there wants it, so please! Don't blow it up." The girl whose name he couldn't remember nodded stiffly, her face pale and tears about to fall. However, Rodney was already on the next idiot and didn't have time to deal with her. He did, however, nod some other underlings her way. Despite his heartless exterior he really did care that all of them made it to the end of the day. In the time he'd been here he'd already seen to many people carted off to their deaths, or killed by some silly mistake.

It had been a month and… how many days? Rodney had lost track a while ago. He didn't have a calendar, and he seriously doubted he would have time to look at it if he did. As he rushed about, trying to keep these third world heathens from killing them all, he thought back to when he first arrived here. Davrok was a man who looked old and frail and was anything but. He looked like the kind of man you wanted for a grandfather, but he had the blood of hundreds if not thousands on his hands. He had spoken kindly, and for the first fifteen minutes Rodney was sure he had finally gotten off well. That is, until Davrok told Rodney that mistakes would not be tolerated, and that it was punishable by torture and death. Either that or being sold to the arena.

He also told Rodney that he was putting Rodney in charge of the other scientist slaves, and that their mistakes would be their deaths. So here he was bustling around the lab, barking orders and keeping mistakes from being made, saving lives, actually, though in a totally different way than he was used to.

It was interesting, really, how life changes when you least expect it to. When he first arrived in the Pegasus he expected life to go as always. He expected to have no friends and to be as he always was – despised and avoided. Treated with contempt despite his brilliance. Instead he had found friends in a brilliant expedition leader, a cocky fly boy, a cave man, a voodoo doctor, and an Amazon princess, otherwise known as Elizabeth Weir, John Sheppard, Ronon Dex, Carson Becket and Teyla Emmagan. In them he had eventually found more than friendship – he had also found a family.

However three of these people were now lost somewhere on this world. During the first few days of his stay he had constantly watched the door, expecting that at any second Colonel Sheppard was going to burst in with Ronon and Teyla and they were going to bust their way out of here. Well, one month and so many days later…

As he helped save another life by snapping at one of the underlings, he couldn't help think to himself, _"Where the – are you guys?"_

_TBC..._

_Sorry about the delay, but school was a killer. Also, I've never been good at writing Rodney so any hints would be greatly appreciated._


End file.
